


No Need in Even Going

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: Breakout Kings
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Character of Color, Dom/sub, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, M/M, Multi, Non-Sexual Submission, POV Male Character, Rare Fandoms, Rare Pairing, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, bondage (held down)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-24
Updated: 2011-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Ray needs right now is not to freakin' fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Need in Even Going

**Author's Note:**

> An episode tag to 1.06, in which Ray's head was all fucked up after Beaumont, and a tag to 1.07, where Ray seemed even more stressed. Also, I wanted to explore more submissive!Ray in this fic, _especially_ after that scene with Starla. So more emotional D/s complicatedness ahoy.

"Come over here."

Charlie's voice is soft this time. It doesn't have any of the hard edges that it normally does. It's an option instead of an order, and Ray hates that 'cause he's gonna choose wrong if he's got a choice. He's gonna pick the fight instead of the easy way out and what he needs right now is _not to freakin' fight_ — the ex, the cons, his _life_. He takes a breath and adds _or Charlie_ in the gap of his own thoughts.

"Ray," Charlie says, tone as set as the expression on his face. He's gone Marine on Ray now, straight-backed, no-more-bullshit attitude.

It's too late, though, 'cause Ray's not budging, not in his head and not physically. "Yeah. I heard you."

"I said come here."

"Just." Ray scrubs a hand down his face and stays exactly where he is. "Give me a minute."

He tenses when he hears Charlie start to cross the room, boots a heavy thud on the hardwood floor. When Charlie's two strides in, Ray looks up to watch, his gut churning and his heart racing. He clenches his fists, hauls himself up, and squares off.

He doesn't expect Charlie to knock him off his ass with a kiss, Charlie's mouth pressed so hard against Ray's that Ray automatically grabs onto him for balance and clutches more tightly to Charlie's shirt when he feels himself tipping back anyway. The backs of his knees hit the bed, and then he's falling and it's like he can breathe again, his thoughts looping on _yeah, yeah, give it to me_.

But somewhere in the middle of it all, Charlie's twisting him around, and there's a moment where everything's too slow and sharp. Charlie's tugging on his arms, jerking them behind Ray's back, and there's a split second of _hell no_ , before Ray starts fighting, getting one knee on the mattress so he doesn't faceplant and lose all the leverage he's got.

Charlie's palm covers the back of his head and shoves him face down, making him suck a mouth full of the sheets. It's Charlie's knee between his thighs, Charlie's weight over his back, Charlie's hands shackled around his wrists that foul up what little chance he had of getting out of this. But Ray isn't some low-level, scumbag con, and he's not gonna get taken down like one. He bucks up again and tries to wrench his arm loose. He'll freakin' head butt Charlie if he's got to—

"Ray!"

The snap of Charlie's voice is like the discharge of a gun. It makes Ray freeze and focus, settles him back in his skin so he can either take cover or take out the perp. It's got nothin' to do with listening for Charlie and waiting for a distraction or an order, but that's what Ray's doing now, listening to Charlie breathe above him, lost in another split second of _Charlie's heart_.

Ray curses in his head, jaw too clenched to let it slip loose as he tries to twist out of Charlie's grasp again, this time to turn around and make sure Charlie's not dyin' on top of him. 'Cause that's how it happens — dead and done. Or some stupid perp makes a bomb and sets it outside the door, and that thought starts the buzzing, that uncomfortable freakin' jitter beneath Ray's skin that makes him stupid and pissed off.

"Charlie," he says, breathless from the struggle. "Charlie, you okay? Let me up."

Charlie bears down on Ray with all of his weight, and Ray grunts. "No. You're gonna stay right where I put you."

"Char—"

"And _not_ "—Charlie jabs his elbow into Ray's back, adds more pressure, and Ray has to drop his face into the mattress to muffle his groan—"another word."

So Ray, of course, has to turn his head — pauses to sip in enough air — and has to ask, "What about my safe word?" It gets him popped in the back of the head, and he winces, angling his head back to shoot Charlie a dirty look. "What? It's a valid freakin' question."

"One more word, Ray."

"Marisol," Ray says.

They're both stuck for a second. Mentally. 'Cause physically, Ray's able to get his arms loose. They slip easy out of Charlie's grasp, and he plants his hands on the bed, gives himself the option of heaving Charlie off of him. He can't see Charlie's face well enough to know what he's thinkin', and he's wondering if he needs to, wondering why he even brought Marisol up in the first place.

Guess it needed to be said, he tries to rationalize. Guess he needed to say it, needed to let it out. Normally, he'd just ask, but their situation's a little weird. Ray doesn't have Charlie, not all the way, not when some stupid freakin' con nearly blows up his wife and Ray doesn't see Charlie for a few weeks and then a few weeks longer when another case comes their way. He's seen Charlie, yeah, but Ray kinda needs more— _needed_ more—

"She's all right," Charlie says, and Ray gets the feeling like maybe he missed that in the mess of his own head, 'cause Charlie repeats it as he closes his hands around Ray's biceps and squeezes.

Ray breathes out and shuts his eyes, clenching and unclenching his fingers in the sheets, his skin getting all shivery and tingly from Charlie's touch, but he can't reach Charlie the way they are now. He can't touch back. "I need more, Charlie." Ray grunts when Charlie pushes, all the pressure focused on the middle of Ray's back until his breath is a little bit more of a struggle. He tries to shift, but Charlie stops him, and Ray can finally ask, "Tell me about her."

"She's okay, Ray. What more do you need to know?"

And Ray guesses nothin'. None of his business anyway. His laugh shouldn't sound so bitter when it slips out, and he turns his head that fraction of an inch, lets the mattress smother it 'til it dies for real in his throat, too big all of a sudden, lodged so tight.

He flexes his fingers and huffs out a breath. "Jules kissed me."

Charlie says nothin'. The only response that Ray gets is the quick clench and release of Charlie's hand around his arms.

"It didn't mean anything," Ray says, but the words feel as mangled as whatever the heck is going on in his chest. "It was an accident."

"Is that what this is about, Ray?"

"What?" Ray blinks and tries to turn, tries to get a look at Charlie and see what's goin' on in that head of his. "What're you—"

"You said you needed to be put down. You want me to do that, Ray?"

"Maybe you didn't notice, but." Ray tries to shift, bucking his hips, and when Charlie shoves him back down to the bed, his words end in a breathless, "I'm already down."

Charlie adds more pressure than he needs to, but it just makes Ray groan into the sheets, his cock throbbing between his legs, trapped, and all Charlie's doing is sharpening all the edges again, making them prickle along Ray's skin until another groan grates up his throat.

"You need something"—Charlie jerks on Ray's right arm, pulls it high up his back, and Ray grunts, automatically clenching his teeth to fight the tell-tale freakin' stutter of his breath—"you ask for it."

"Christ, Charlie, _how_ —"

" _That_ ," Charlie says, "is what we agreed on."

Ray's mouth dries out, and whatever he was gonna say flees on the finality of Charlie's words. He goes lax beneath Charlie all of a sudden. It's like one long exhale, quiet and focused.

"Now." Charlie's breath puffs warm over Ray's ear, and Ray squeezes his eyes shut on a shiver and a shaky breath. "Tell me what you want."

"This," Ray says immediately, and buries his face against his left arm 'cause Charlie's still got the right trapped between Ray's back and Charlie's chest. Charlie's heart is good for this.

"What?" Charlie asks, patient. He puts more pressure on Ray's arm, pushes it higher up his back so that this bright, sharp spark of pain lances through Ray's shoulder. He grabs onto Charlie's shirt, instinctive, and Charlie moves, his knee riding higher between Ray's thighs and his chest rubbing against Ray's knuckles.

"Your weight. Just"—Ray wants to chew on something, wants to stop the tumble of words, but there's no room for fighting anymore—"this. Just you."

"Okay," Charlie says, and it's that easy.

It didn't feel that easy a minute ago.

It's hard for Ray to breathe, layin' under Charlie the way he is, but it gives him focus. Each careful inhale and exhale is deliberate and intent, makes him so intimately aware of the feel of Charlie crushing him that he can't help but drift, sinking deep into his head the same way he's sinking into the mattress. And when he eventually — _finally_ — doesn't feel that either, there's only Charlie — the rock solid weight of him on top of Ray, the subtle flex of his fingers around Ray's wrist, the rub of his thumb on Ray's skin. Ray breathes and listens and soaks Charlie in.

He might've fallen asleep, because when he opens his eyes, Charlie's moving, shifting Ray around until they're chest to chest, both lying side by side on top of the bed. Charlie's mouth is soft and warm against Ray's, and Ray drinks that in, too, as he tries to move his hand to Charlie's arm or some part of Charlie that he can hold onto.

It's Charlie who fits their hands together, who holds on 'til Ray shudders out a breath, who holds on tighter when Ray's pretty sure it's time to let go. "It's okay, Ray. I've got you."


End file.
